View User's Journal

Hi there. My name is Akimi Ice-eyes. I'm a swordmage, and until recently, a bounty hunter. I discovered my power at the age of 5. I'm one of those rare sorts that has the ability to control magic as well as a proficiency with weapons (a pretty damn high proficiency if I do say so myself). Most magic users can't even abide the touch of steel, much less use a sword or an axe. In any case, I digress. I've been a bounty hunter since not long after a ragtag group of monsters and regular human bandits calling themselves the Red Marauders attacked my town. They killed my parents, as well as my mentor, a fellow sword mage, when they struck in the middle of the night, taking a quarter of the population of the town along with my own loved ones. After that, I put my skills and training to use, and my first job was hunting down the Red Marauders. It took me years to get them all, but fortunately, as a swordmage, I'm going to be alive for a long time. Sadly, all good things must come to an end. I got overconfident, and perhaps a little arrogant, after a long streak of successes, and I finally bit off more than I could chew, when I took a job (and oh you'll love this cliché) to go after (wait for it) a dragon. And I didn't want help. What I didn't know, and would have known if I'd been listening, was that this particular dragon was in fact an Ancient Wyrm and had a human avatar. So when a tough lookin guy with angry eyes and a revenge story met me near the dragon's lair, and me, of course, empathizing with the revenge motive, I didn't suspect. Too late, he's suggesting we split up to search the dragon's cave, and he sends me down the path that led straight to a trap. He decided to spare my life, (though I can't say quite yet if that was a fortunate turn of events) saying we swordmages were a rare breed, and it was a shame to kill one so young and full of promise, despite me being in need of a fairly serious reigning in. Instead, he sent me to the slave trade. Now here I am, in a cell, slave tattoos on my wrists and neck, and special cuffs that keep me from doing anything about it. Now that you know my life story, lets just wrap it up with the small details. I'm 40 years old, about, I think, 5'10'' in height. Not that its really any of your business, but I'm straight. If you want to know anything else, you're just going to have to buy me, aren't you?

Name: Lynea Farstrider, most call me Lyn
Age: 50ish, not that it matters, I'm an elf
Race: see previous
Orientation: straight
Personality: quiet among those I don't know, strong-willed, I have a temper but also very good self control, so few ever actually see that temper or realize its depth. I don't make friends easily, but those I have are as good as they come.
Story: Born to a wealthy elven family, I had a fairly easy childhood. However, I saw the standing of most of those in my class as selfish, self-centered, and frankly, boring. I left my home and went to a neighboring clan in the Druman mountains, a proud and well-known group of hunters to be trained to fight. They taught me well, so well at first my pampered and tame childhood threatened to make me quit, but I persevered and came out a strong and fit fighter. I returned home, and after some drama, my family accepted me back. I started a school to train others that wished to learn how to defend themselves and others, those that showed the most promise I sent to the hunters for more advanced training. Myself and my students became the guards of the city. Unfortunately, when I was about 40, tensions between my clan and another, that resided deeper in the forest began to rise, as they insisted that we had encroached on sacred clan holdings during a seasonal celebration. It was in truth a small offense, but neither side would budge, and eventually, it led to a feud, of sorts. Elves being the dreadfully honorable and 'polite' sorts that we are, it took almost 8 years for things to come to a head. During an attack on our city, I was targeted for my part in creating the city's defenses, captured, and turned over to slavers. My only salvation, and its a dubious thing at that, is that my loyal companion, Forsythe, an albino lion I found abandoned by its mother as a cub, was taken with me when he defended me against my attackers. I am grateful for his company, though I would much rather see him running free. Still, I stay warm at night in my cold stone and metal cell, unlike many of those imprisoned here. I sit, and think, and try to keep myself in shape as well as from going mad with boredom as I wait for my chance to break free and return to my home.

Name: Logan Kane
Age: Not entirely sure on that, but in human(ish) form I look to be about 25
Race: Shapeshifter
Orientation: straight
Personality: Honestly I'm a bit of a loose cannon. My mood changes about as often as my form does. I'm more of a playful sort, which, if they were here now, my family would say is what got me in to this situation. Most of the time though I tend to be upbeat, albeit in a sarcastic, wry, backwards sort of way. Despite my attitude though, I'm very much a daughter of my clan, loyal to the bone and easily offended if my honor is questioned.
Story: I'm a member of a clan of shapeshifters that are renowned warriors. Or, at least, I was. Our clan takes honorable combat, loyalty, and a worthy death in battle. We are fighters all, despite whatever trade crafts or hobbies we might pick up in our considerably long lifetimes. I myself have seen a few centuries, though I don't recall my exact age. For my part, I was once compared to the runty, playful pup of the litter for my goofing around and generally playful nature. I can hold my own in a fight as well as any of my family, I just was never that serious about it, until it was too late. I was out in the forest one day and came upon a hunting party, or so I thought anyway. I decided to have some fun with them, taking the shape of various game animals and leading them around by the nose for a while. Too my great chagrin, it turned out they were a hunting party, but with very particular game in mind: rare and exotic creatures that would make good slaves. And unfortunately, shapeshifter turned out to be on the menu. I was shot with an arrow dipped in a special toxin that blocked my abilities, then caged, and placed in cuffs spelled to have the same effect. I've been at the slave market a few weeks now, and can only hope for a chance to get away if some naïve human buys me.

**This slave is for Laoch by MasterAdam28**
**This character's RP has ended, and is now available**

Name: Nikki
Race: Fallen angel
Age: I look early 20's
Orientation: Straight
Personality: Snarky, sarcastic, hard-headed, stubborn, and a very ironic sense of humor. No, I'm not a people person.
Story: Let's keep this short sweet and to the point. While working as a guardian some time ago, myself and my charge were attacked by demons. The man was the more fortunate of us, he died almost immediately. I was captured, and taken to hell to be tortured. Of course, with the death of my charge while I was still alive and unable to speak my case to the High Council, I was immediately considered fallen, with my wings and hair turned black to be marked as unworthy, and I was then the lowest of the low in the caste of angels. I did eventually escape from my imprisonment and return to the mortal plane. With my black wings, I was barred entrance to the angelic residence without a sponsor to speak for me, despite the guardian tattoo on my back. So I started taking mercenary work, trying to keep myself busy. While on the road one time in between jobs, I was overwhelmed by a ragtag group of bandits, a mix that included a few humans, but was mostly a collection of some of the less savory brands of immortals that walked the earth, vampires, half-demons, werebeasts, and the like. Fortunately, I keep my wings hidden most of the time, otherwise the demons in the group would have taken more of an interest. They wanted to use me as a whore, but thinking I was a normal human, didn't guard me near as well as they should have. I managed to get away briefly, killing one of the vampires in the process, but without my weapons, their sheer numbers were enough to overpower me again. After that incident, they decided I was too much trouble and sold me to slavers. It took them a couple days, but they of course, with their magic sniffers, discovered what I really was. They were pleased at first, thinking I would fetch a high price, but now after three months with an unruly slave that just makes life difficult for them, I think they would take a few coins for me. No one wants an unbroken, unwilling slave, apparently.